Punishment: Inflicted
by Legend Atticus
Summary: Punisher's after an underground crime syndicate, but our story opens witht he hero already captured and being held...in a prison! This adventure couldn't be crazier or bloodier as Punisher battles his way through another mess of the underworld.
1. Chapter 1

"Run! Everybody, run! It's the Punisher!"  
  
Gun shots lit up the night as people fled. Explosions and screams could be heard; it sounded like a complete war. Perhaps Russia against the United States in pitched combat.  
  
But in reality, it was just the Punisher coming to serve up justice.  
  
The three families ran to their cars and took off in their own private helicopters. These three families were all headed by powerful and influential figures, and they controlled a crime syndicate that spanned the globe.  
  
By the time the gunshots quieted down, only on figure remained standing, smoking guns in hand. If it hadn't been so dark, if the moon was showing, perhaps you might've seen the skull on his chest, or the sweat on his face, or the look in his eyes, or the blood on his boots.  
  
But I was the only one who saw it all. And I was lucky that I made it out. No, that's not true. They all made it out. But only two of us made it out alive. And the only other one who did is sitting at the other end of this table. 


	2. Chapter 2

My name's not really important, but I'll say it anyway, just for the benefit of the reporters. Henry. Henry Jones. But that really doesn't matter. Everyone called me Crutch. I'll get to that in a minute.  
  
To tell it all, I need to start at the beginning. I had heard of the Punisher way back when, before I was even in with the syndicate. I don't know what he was doin' before it all started, but I know what I was doin', so I'll just talk about that.  
  
I grew up in a grease pit in a little pocket of Philadelphia. Even if I gave you directions on how to get there, you never would find it. It's just a couple blocks, buffered nicely by a junkyard and a few tall buildings. It's just a little slum that gets pretty much ignored. Called it Hell's Pocket, but it's official was Dawson or somethin'. I don't even know.  
  
Anyway, I was about eighteen when I joined up in a gang that represented our little pocket of Philadelphia. The Pucks, we called ourselves. Nothing to do with hockey, except our leader at the time was Puck, and the name stuck even after he died.  
  
In a few years, we owned the whole city. We never fought fair, we prided ourselves on that. The day before we knew we were going to get in a firefight, we would make a few hits on their best guys, bomb a few buildings, and then go out to drink.  
  
By that time, I was the right-hand man. Whenever the boss needed a special target to kick the bucket, especially while the rest of the crew was out hittin' another spot, I would be the one to do the job. I wasn't too stealthy or anythin', but I had good aim and a fast finger. That's why I lasted for so long.  
  
That's when I got my name. Crutch. Everyone leaned on me when the pressure was on. I was the pillar of the group, the backbone. Crutch. Yeah, that was me. So when Puck bought it in a gunfight because he was too damned drunk to see, I took over.  
  
We were still the Pucks, but we had a better purpose than just havin' fun. We were out to own the country. We took over more and more small towns nearby, more and more rival gangs. That was my first mistake. We grew too rapidly at that point. It drew attention from high places. Most of it bad, too.  
  
The government was on our tails. They stuck to us good, sniffing all our asses. They hit us, again and again. I wasn't as stupid as Puck. I didn't let the crew go out and get drunk until after a fight. But even sober, we were no match for the National Guard. They trained hard, and it paid off.  
  
But we had so many guys with us it almost didn't matter. We would run when we started getting' hit too hard, and then we would ride again in a day or two. But that all changed when the Punisher stepped in.  
  
He wiped us out. Damn near every one of us. Had no more than twenty guys at my back when he finished rippin' us apart. We was goin' to break apart right then, disband the Pucks for good. But Sterling came to me with an offer I really couldn't refuse.  
  
He took us into his own syndicate, showed us how to be more subtle, and even let us stay together as one unit inside his crew. We changed our name 'bout then. We were the Bashers, a hit squad for Sterling's underground mafia.  
  
He knew how to avoid attention like what I got before. We held on for another coupla years, livin' it up. Those were the glory days, right there. Everything went downhill when he got mixed two other crime families.  
  
Sterling's only problem was he thought he was a lot better than he really was. Oh, he was good. Damn good. But he thought he was a whole helluva lot better. Tryin' to play politics with the other families, thought they didn't know exactly what he was doin'.  
  
But they set him up. They knew what he was goin' to do next. He wrote the rulebook, but then he stuck to it. Yeah, they got themselves a share in Sterling's mafia, and they integrated their own little groups in, too. Things weren't too bad, until they started runnin' more than just the usual. Sterling made it a point to stay away from drugs. Sure, he lost out on a lotta money, but I admire his principles.  
  
The other two families, they didn't have no morals like what Sterling did. They went straight for the big money. Heroine. Cocaine. Marijuana. Opium. Didn't matter much to them, they just followed the profits. Expanded the "company" into other countries, became a global force.  
  
That's when things went wrong. All wrong. Damned wrong. 


End file.
